


The Least Expected

by zuzallove



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Arthur Pendragon Is King, M/M, Modern Era, Modern Royalty, Royalty, or he's about to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 23:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13305909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzallove/pseuds/zuzallove
Summary: He knew he had no guarantee Arthur would even remember, he had just… assumed. He had waited for him to be 18, then 21, then 26, and still Arthur lived his life as if he were alive for the first time in history. He had no idea who he used to be. He had no idea who Merlin used to be, and what he used to be to him.





	The Least Expected

Merlin grunted and shifted slightly his hips. He did not dare change his position, even though his knees were starting to hurt. At this point when they had sex Arthur usually knew how to make him come in less than a few minutes. Of course, he had no idea why. He probably attributed it to good instincts or great sexual chemistry or something like that. He did not know – Merlin found himself thinking, for the millionth time in two years – that that particular talent came from years and years of forgotten, yet lingering experience.

Arthur grabbed his shoulder and emitted a low moan. Merlin felt he was close. Usually around this time he squeezed his cock – oh, and there he goes. Like clockwork.

Sometimes Merlin found the weight of all his long years so heavy to bear that he believed he would crumble under it. How fucked up was his life that his own boyfriend had already been his in a past life and could not remember it?

Honestly. He hoped one day he would be able to share it on Graham Norton’s couch. That ought to get him a good, honest laugh. And maybe some sympathy from the audience.

He came as he usually did, with a silent scream, followed shortly after by Arthur, as always. Like. Fucking. Clockwork.

“You were amazing,” Arthur panted after rolling off of him. “You are wasted as a Private Secretary”.

Merlin couldn’t even think of a witty retort. He just laid there, breathless, staring at the beautiful paintings on the ceiling. The Palace was definitely better than Camelot, he thought randomly. But it was definitely harder to warm up. He had felt colder there last winter than he ever had in his whole past life, and that was practically the Dark Ages.

He should not be complaining, he chided himself. Arthur was alive. Arthur was himself – a doubt that had gnawed at him for several centuries of lonely wanderings: what if Arthur finally came back and acted completely different?

Alas, he was the usual asshole. Only difference was clothes and weapons. And even then, his old self clearly re-emerged from time to time when it came to choosing styles and colours. Merlin was frankly starting to hate red.

“You have an appointment, you know.”

“Ah, yes. Knights. In a second, your Crown Prince’s resting.”

Arthur was about to become King. Because of course even in his rebirth he didn’t have to fight or scrape to get to the throne. King Uther was seriously ill, had been for months now. He was so weak that he couldn’t even put on his crown and royal garments and appoint a few Knighthoods. Merlin found it kind of poetic: after a long and honestly terrible reign – in which all he had done was break the golden rule of the royal family: not talk about politics publicly – the great King Uther was brought down by the same thing that had brought him down in his first life. Madness.

To be more precise, he had dementia. What wasn’t poetic was that when Arthur finally remember who he was, he would also have to remember that he saw his father die two times. Merlin sighed.

“I swear to God, you’re the laziest son a bitch I’ve ever met.”

“Love you too, Princess.”

And Arthur remembering was a bit of a sore spot. He was in the US when he first heard of a baby boy being born at Buckingham Palace. He had kept a close eye on the British royal family but by far they had disappointed him with a few great Queens, no great Kings and a lot of insignificant people with the single merit of being born with a crown on their heads. Yet the announcement of a certain peculiar name struck him where he was standing like lightning: Uther.

Of course, it could have meant nothing. He could have never met Ygraine. He could have married another woman and fathered a child entirely different from Arthur, or even worse, he could have been the father of Morgana, and Morgana only. For good measure, he immediately re-entered the UK and quietly observed the situation for about 30 years. But Ygraine did exist. She did marry Uther. And they did have a son called Arthur.

“You seriously need to start washing…”

“Stop mothering me, for Heav-…”

He was not lucky in that department, because even though Nimueh was not involved that time – she did not exist in that lifetime, Merlin thought and hoped – Ygraine still died in childbirth. Poor Arthur and his godforsaken destiny of not having a mother.

“Barry has already laid out your outfit. Do you need any help?”  
“I would not mind a backrub.”

“So, no.”

Magicking his way into the palace had not been easy. First, he had to be chosen as a nurse and a male nanny. Never easy. He concealed his appearance and looked blond and with a huge nose. Ironically. Then, as a private tutor: that was easy, he was used to looking old and frail. And then he had to create the perfect alter ego and the perfect fake CV to be hired as His Royal Highness’ Private Secretary. The poor man who was supposed to do it – having served Uther for almost 10 years when he was Crown Prince – was quite disappointed, but as far as Merlin knew, he did not mind at all finding a winning lottery ticket. A couple of spells, and there he was: a lackey in the service of an idiot. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I swear everytime we have sex I have all sorts of pains afterwards. My side won’t stop hurting.”

That side would never stop hurting. He had been stabbed with a magic sword there. Not that he knew.

Merlin wondered at least forty times a day when and if Arthur would remember. He had made sure he saw magic, but nothing. Trip to the old forests near Camelot: nothing. Clothes, names, people – Gwaine was alive and well, and a Royal Guard no less – nothing. He knew he had no guarantee Arthur would even remember, he had just… assumed. He had waited for him to be 18, then 21, then 26, and still Arthur lived his life as if he were alive for the first time in history. He had no idea who he used to be. He had no idea who Merlin used to be, and what he used to be to him.

But of course, they still clicked when they met. They still fought. Still fucked. Still fell in love like idiotic teenagers, necking in the secluded and darkest spots of every single royal residence – plus a couple of hotels.

Uther didn’t know and would never know. They both agreed to spare him. Secretly, Merlin thought he was doing it more to spare Arthur. Spare him from seeing once again how intolerant and pig-headed his father was. Spared his from another disappointment.

“Ok, I’m just about ready, get in here, help me with this clasp, oh, bugger…”

Merlin walked to him with a sigh. He shouldn’t be complaining, not even in his head. He had Arthur. He was young and healthy and happy. He should be content with that, because god knows he’s wanted nothing more for a millennium.

He just wondered. If nothing else had triggered his memories until now, what on earth would? Perhaps it was time to finally abandon that childish dream and just focus on enjoying what he had.

“Hold in your breath… there. You are gaining weight again, Your Royal Chubbiness.”

“Ah-ah, yes, yes, your Prince is fat. Old joke. Come on…”

“This is what you get for eating that insane pile of bacon every morning. Keep holding in your breath, it’s starting to fit.”

“Of course it fits, you moron. It’s made to fit me, not the other way around.”

“Tomorrow, for breakfast, you’ll have an apple and soy crackers.”

“I’ll have you for breakfast!” Arthur shouted angrily. Merlin just sighed and finally clasped the ends of theceremonial belt tightly. His fingers hurt from the strain.  
“There. Be careful, a full breath and the clasp might explode and kill some poor, innocent bystander.”

Arthur was not listening to him. He was staring at nothing, his blue eyes wide, his mouth parted open. He was taking in shallow, frenetic breaths.

“Arthur? Can you breathe? I could fetch a tailor from downstairs.”

He received no answer. Arthur was mouthing words Merlin could not understand. His stare was vacant and empty, like he wasn’t even there. Merlin started to worry.

“Arthur? Arthur!”

“I…” was all Arthur could say, before he collapsed against the leg of the humongous bed. Merlin immediately went to help him, but Arthur stopped him with a raised hand.

After a few more shallow breaths, he finally raised his head again. Merlin froze. His eyes were different. His eyes were not young anymore. Somehow, they felt older, more experienced, like eyes of a man who has seen much more than his few years would allow. Merlin felt himself stiffening.

And the, slowly, deliberately, Arthur smiled.

“You clotpole. You utter, complete clotpole.”

“OH, YOU…” Merlin shouted, biting his fist in frustration. “I cannot believe you… I… oh, for the love of…”

“Shouldn’t you be bowing to your King?” Arthur teased.

“Oh, I’ll bow. You’ll see. I’ll bow and then punch you in your blasted balls, you absolute…”

“Merlin. Merlin!” Arthur grasped his face and forced him to look into his eyes. Merlin wanted to cry out of sheer relief. There he was. After all those centuries, there he was, flesh, blood, and memories. All of them. Precious and intact. “Stop making a spectacle. You are a future Prince Consort, after all.”

Merlin looked at him in shock. Lovers, yes, something more, he suspected, but this…

“Are you sure?”

Arthur smiled his only serious smile and simply nodded.

“It’s high time you were rewarded.”

The kiss that followed was different than any other. It was their first kiss, in a sense: for the first time, they were both aware not only where they were headed, but also where they had been. The past was solved. The future was scary – after all, if Arthur were alive that meant they would need him, hopefully for nothing too catastrophic – and the present was finally, finally serene.

After the best kiss of his life, Merlin hung his head low. He could not stop a chuckle from escaping him.

“I cannot believe it.”

“I know…” Arthur started. “I’m alive again. I thought…”

“No, I can’t believe that _that’s_ the sentence that made you remember, you arse.”


End file.
